CHAPTER FOUR
ROWAN
I don’t want to do this.
It’s glaikit.
You can’t force me.
You’ve got to be kidding me . . .
Fine.
Run-in with American: One.
Uncommunicative parents: Two.
Annoying author making me do pointless shite I don’t want to do: One.
There . . . happy?
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
When were they planning on telling me they found people to look over the coffee house?
And what for?
I push my hand through my hair and round the bend where my parents’ house is tucked away up against a mountain. When the white stone building comes into view, I throw my pickup into park and stare at it.
What the hell were they thinking?
Hamish down at the pub was the one who asked about the advert my parents submitted and the worldwide attention it had received. The advert I had no idea about. That was embarrassing enough, but to not be told that they’d actually found two lasses to take over the coffee shop? That’s fucking ridiculous.
As anger settles over me, tensing my shoulders and neck, I push through the door of their quaint house. At the sound of my steps, both my parents startle on their black leather sofa in the living room, their bodies jostling against each other. The iPad they were holding tumbles to the floor with a thud.
“Jesus, Rowan, you startled us.” Maw presses one hand to her heart and one to my da’s thigh.
I slam the door shut. “When were you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?” Maw asks, feigning innocence, but I know her sweet whisky-brown eyes conceal some severe calculation.
“The two Americans.”
“Aye, did you meet them? Bonnie is quite the looker, isn’t she?”
“When were you going to tell me?” I say, ignoring her.
My da lowers his glasses on his nose, his usually strong body looking withered under his tartan shirt. The past few months have been alarming, to say the least. There has been a distinct decrease in Da’s muscle mass, in his energy levels and food consumption. Foods that he used to love he barely touches now. He even passed up some empire biscuits a few weeks ago, which first tipped me off that something might be going on. The other day I asked Maw if Da was okay, and she said he was fine, just eating healthy, which was why he’d lost so much weight. But he doesn’t look like he’s just lost weight—he looks frail.
“Tomorrow, when we leave,” he says in his authoritative voice.
I grew up with that voice, constantly chattering in my ear, molding me into the man he wanted me to become, a man he could be proud of.
Strong.
A man who takes care of his home.
A man who’s proud of his heritage and his family name.
And yes, I do take pride in where I’ve come from, my heritage and the family name, but I want so much more from this life. I need so much more from this life, and I haven’t been able to consider an alternate route from what my da has planned for me.
“You’re leaving tomorrow? So . . . what, you were just going to pack your bags and take off with barely a goodbye?”
“We were going to say goodbye,” Maw says, rising from the sofa and walking over to the entryway, where I’m still standing, my feet feeling like stone. She pats me on the cheek. “Did you eat?”
Is she kidding me right now? “Maw, I don’t even know why you’re leaving in the first place. You’re being so goddamn secretive.”
“No, we’re not. We’re going on holibags. That’s all you need to know.”
“No, I need to know where you’re going. What if there’s an emergency? Are you even going to take your phones with you, or are you going to go completely rogue?”
“Don’t be silly—of course we’ll bring our phones.” Maw moves to the kitchen, where she starts fixing me a plate.
I turn to my da. “Was this your plan, to keep it all a secret?”
It’s common knowledge in town that I don’t necessarily get on well with my da. We have our grievances, our differences, and ideas of what my future should be. I wanted to focus on my craft, leave Corsekelly, find my own life, my own future. And Da . . . well, he said he wanted nothing to do with me leaving and claimed abandonment of my family and the town that played a huge part in my life.
Disrespectful.
Irresponsible.
Hurtful.
All words Da used when I confronted him about my decision. And as he spouted off his distaste for the mere notion of me leaving, I saw pain in his eyes. Raw and real.
I asked him for his truth, why he was so hurt about me leaving—truly hurt.
He masked up, shut down, and reminded me of what we’d lost already as a family.
Guess who won out regarding what I did with my life? All I can say is, it’s not my idea to stay in Corsekelly as the town’s repairman, going from house to house replacing faucets, cleaning gutters, and even cutting the grass. But that’s what Da wanted. And after everything that happened . . . well, let’s just say I owe him. I’ll leave it at that.
“Don’t you raise your voice with me,” he says, shifting on the sofa and wincing at the same time.
A few months ago, Da stopped working at the coffee shop, leaving all the work to Maw. He insisted on taking a much-deserved break after thirty years of serving coffee to the locals and tourists. But Maw couldn’t keep up with the demand of baking and serving customers. The coffee shop has languished without him.
“I’m not raising my voice,” I say, my voice rising. “I’m just trying to understand all of this.” I look my da dead in the eyes. “Are you sick and you’re not telling me?”
“No,” he says gruffly, standing from the sofa and making his way to the kitchen, where Maw hands him a plate. “We just want to take some time off, and we don’t need to clear that decision with you.”
I run my tongue over my teeth, corralling my anger. “That’s fair, but I’d appreciate you respecting me enough to inform me about your plans. I’m your son, after all.”
As the tension builds between me and Da, Maw hurries over and presses a plate into my hand. “Sit, eat, and we’ll tell you all about the trip.”
Keeping my eyes on Da, I take the plate and find a seat at the table in the kitchenette.
Shaky hands.
Unhealthy skin.
Sunken eyes.
Whatever they’re about to tell me, I know there’s so much more that they’re not going to give away.
“About damn time,” Lachlan, one of my two best friends, says as I push through the semicrowded pub. “Leith and I are starting to get sick of staring at each other.”
“Surprising, given how narcissistic you both are.” I take a seat at the high-top table they’re sharing.
Leith and Lachlan Murdach.
Identical twins and proud owners of Bubbles Linen Basket, the town’s launderette. They’re also becoming incredibly famous online for the personal-training videos they post every Sunday. Decked out in their kilts and nothing else, they use Scotland’s terrain to work out. Logs for bench pressing, stones for push-ups, hurdling fences for cardio—blurred under the kilts, of course. I saw the unedited version and nearly threw up in my mouth. They thought it would be funny to skip the underwear that day.
Another man’s jiggling boaby is something you can’t unsee.
“You seem extra irritated today,” Leith says, handing me a tumbler of whisky. “Does this have to do with the two Americans who came strolling into town today?”
I down my whisky and set the glass on the table, not giving them the satisfaction of my answer.
“I think it does,” Lachlan says. “Word on the street is they’re blonde and bonny.”
“Bonny” doesn’t even begin to describe it.
Bonnie.
Ice-blue eyes, unlike any I’d ever seen before, studied me, devoured me in one slow perusal. Platinum-blonde hair fell over her shoulders and past her plump breasts, which were barely secured by a towel.
And the arrogance she exuded—the woman was half-naked and using a broom as a weapon, but she was still proud, stubborn, determined. I wasn’t prepared for the wave of interest that wrapped around my limbs and sank into my bones. Nor was I ready for the headiness that flushed through my body when her eyes connected with mine.
But then she mentioned my parents’ imminent departure. I was quickly distracted from her beauty and was put on high alert. How could she know more about them than I did?
A stranger.
“Have you met them?” Leith asks, looking far too excited.
“One,” I say, wishing I hadn’t gulped all my whisky down.
“And . . .”
I shrug. “She wasn’t bad.”
Throwing his head back, Leith lets out an obnoxious laugh and shoves my shoulder. “Don’t buy it.”
Yeah, neither do I.
Ignoring him, I drag my hand over my face. “Did you know my parents are going to be gone for six months?”
“Figured as much,” Lachlan says. “That’s what was in the advert—didn’t you read it?”
Apparently not well enough.
“They’re headed to Europe,” I say. “Traveling around from country to country by train.” At least, that’s what they told me. I twist the empty tumbler between my hands, recalling the vague details I dragged out of them.
I can still feel the palpable silence in my parents’ house as we all ate together, the forks clanging on crockery plates, the heavy weight hovering above all of us, the unspoken truth of what’s really going on in our family. We’re falling apart. We’ve been falling apart for years, and no one is willing to step up and fix things.
After this whole holibags shite, I’m sure as hell not.
“Sour you’re not going with them?” Lachlan asks.
“No,” I shoot back. “Irritated they didn’t tell me until the night before they were planning on leaving.” I look around the pub, making sure no one is paying our conversation any attention before I lower my voice. “Have you heard anything around town about my da’s health?”
“No,” Lachlan answers.
“Why?” Leith asks, turning serious. “You worried about him?”
“Just doesn’t seem like his full self. He’s weak, frail looking. Maw says he’s on a diet, but I don’t buy it. He never walks around town anymore. God forbid he’d talk to me about it, though. The man would rather die puffing his chest than let me in on any fault he might have.”
“He seems like he’s lost weight,” Lachlan says. “But I thought he was just eating healthier, like your maw said. Haven’t seen him in the pub at all, or at the Admiral.”
Aye. Another warning sign.
Da loves this town, loves everyone who lives here, and thrives off talking to as many locals as he can.
I’m the exact opposite.
“Christ,” I sigh just as Isla, Lachlan and Leith’s younger sister, steps up to the table. “Hey, Isla.”
She hands out another round of drinks and takes a seat at the table with us. “Saw your maw today, Rowan. She told me all about the new lesbian in town.”
Hell.
Thank God Isla is smirking. My maw is blunt as fuck and has no boundaries to speak of. Makes living in a small town difficult.
“Said I should go make her acquaintance. Ask her out on a date.”
“One of the Americans is a lesbian?” Leith asks.
“Yes, well, according to Finella. She said Dakota—that’s her name—is recovering from a bad breakup.”
“How uncomfortable was that conversation?” I say, shaking my head.
“Not as uncomfortable as the conversation we had after she found out I was gay. Progress.” She winks.
“Is the other one a lesbian?” Leith asks, seeming far too eager at the prospect.
“Bonnie,” I say, staring down at my glass. “Her name is Bonnie St. James.”
The table falls silent as all three Murdachs stare me down.
“Och, do we know this Bonnie?” Isla asks.
I tip back my glass of whisky, though I barely let the liquid wet my lips. “Ran into her at the cottage.”
“And . . . ?” Leith asks. “Care to elaborate?”
I take another sip. “She tried to attack me with a broom but barely even tapped me. Tiny thing.”
“Everyone is tiny compared to you,” Isla points out.
“Thinking on asking her out?” Lachlan asks.
“No,” I answer, and I mean it. Yeah, her eyes are unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and behind her angry, furrowed brow, I spotted the softest of smiles, but I have zero interest in getting involved with an American, let alone one who’s only here temporarily. “She’s running the coffee shop—I don’t foresee us crossing paths.”
“Have you forgotten where you live?” Lachlan asks. “I’d be shocked if you don’t run into her at least once a day.”
“Trust me. I stay out of this town’s way.”
“Uh-huh.” Leith laughs. “Ten pounds says you see her first thing tomorrow morning.”